Trust Issues
by Red Bess Rackham
Summary: Bela needs the boys' help with a job, and Sam has the flu. Dean reluctantly agrees to help, but he swears he's only in it for the money. Dean/Bela. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own le rights, and I've only seen up to season 5 as of posting this. (Which probably doesn't matter, but just in case.)

**A/n:** Well, this was supposed to be short. XD This was written for Cariadne, at Beta Branch for our Secret Santa Fic Exchange. Thanks to everyone there who gave me edits and feedback for this! :D

* * *

**Trust Issues**

Sam and Dean had completed their most recent job roughly two days and three towns ago. They were holed up in a not-too-shabby motel room with violently purple walls, taking some time to let Sam recover from the nasty flu he'd contracted. Dean was itching to get hunting again, but he wasn't about to strain Sam. His brother had spent the entire night previous with a raging fever, emptying his stomach in the room's bathroom.

"You feelin' any better?" Dean asked hopefully, sliding his headphones off.

From the bed on the other side of the nightstand, Sam moaned.

Dean frowned. "You want anything?"

"No," Sam answered. "Just sleep."

"Yeah," said Dean. "You look like hell. I'll get you some soup for supper tonight, if you think you can keep it down."

Sam grunted in reply and buried his face in his pillow.

Before Dean replaced his headphones and blocked out the world, there was a sharp knock at the door to their room. He glanced quickly at Sam, already running scenarios in his head for if the knocker turned out to be a threat. Out of habit, he scooped up the gun from under his pillow and cautiously approached the door, gun cocked and ready.

"Dean? You home, darling?" came a cheerful sounding female voice.

Dean recognized it at once and a glance through the peephole confirmed it: _Bela_. He swore repeatedly under his breath, and while still keeping his gun ready, Dean unlocked the door and allowed the devil woman entry into their motel room.

"What the hell do you want?" he snapped by way of greeting and shut the door behind her.

"Well, hello to you too," she said, tossing him a sultry smile. "I've missed you. How's Sam?"

"How'd you find us?" Dean demanded.

"I have my ways," Bela teased. "Plus, I spotted your wonderfully familiar vehicle parked outside."

"Then back to my original question: _what the hell do you want?_" As Bela settled into one of the chairs at the table, setting her large blue bag atop it, Dean added sharply, "Don't get comfortable – you're not staying."

"Dean, why _such_ hostility?"

Dean snorted. "Shall I count the ways? Let's start with the last time you showed up to screw up a job for us, you stole the damn Colt."

"I gave it back," Bela countered, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder.

"You still _stole_ it."

"Very well, yes, I stole it. I needed it, and I knew you wouldn't just _give_ it to me. I took care of my affairs, and I returned the gun to you, safe and sound. Must we _really_ go over this all again?"

"Why are you _here?_"

Bela reached into her bag and Dean swiftly levelled his gun at her. "Oh, do relax," she said with a roll of her eyes. "It's not what you think."

"It never is with you, which is why I'm not taking my gun away from your face until your hands are out of that bag," said Dean, cocking his head sideways. "I'm happy to blow you away if you try anything."

Bela's lips twitched with amusement, but she appeared to take Dean's threat at least partially seriously, as her movements while she removed objects from her bag were slow and deliberate. She laid out a variety of drug store medications for the flu, as well as couple cans of soup and ginger ale, on the table before her.

"I heard poor Sam has the flu," she said, glancing at the far corner of the room where Sam was wrapped in a mass of blankets, snoring softly.

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. "How could you _possibly_ have known that?"

"Bobby told me."

"Like hell he did."

"All right, I've been following you for two days."

"Why?" He let his arm slowly descend to his side, but he still felt stiff with tension, alert to her every move.

Bela sighed, as if it were obvious and she couldn't understand why Dean hadn't caught on. "Because I have a job."

"Good for you. Go do it."

"It's a two-man job."

"So go con some other sap into helping you."

Bela tipped her head down and looked up at Dean through thick eyelashes. "Dean," she began.

"No. Give me one reason why I should trust you, after all the shit you've put us through – including, but not limited to _shooting Sam_, getting my car towed, and stealing the Colt."

Bela rolled her eyes again. "Damn it, I _gave it back_ – you really must let that go. But I don't need to give you one reason, because I can give you five thousand." She reached into her bag again, and Dean tensed. The next objects she laid on the table were two hefty packets of money. "Each," she added.

Dean stared, certain this was too good to be true. "Yeah right – what's the catch?"

She leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs. "It's a Vekress demon."

"A what?"

"A Vekress demon."

"Never heard of it."

"Well, they _are_ quite rare, only popping up once every hundred years or so, and they are a nasty bit of business," Bela explained. As she removed papers and files from her bag, Dean carefully took the other seat at the table. "They're slippery, charming and poisonous – "

"You're a Vekress demon, aren't you?" Dean interrupted. "Oh, wait. You said they were _charming_. Never mind."

"As I was saying," Bela glared and then continued, "they're difficult to catch, as they take human form, and can be quite skilled at being deceptive. They feed off of human's life force – making those around them grow weaker and weaker until they die of natural causes, then the Vekress moves on. When cornered, however, they tend to lose control and can lash out."

"You're sure you're not a Vekress?" Dean persisted.

Bela briefly pursed her lips with irritation but otherwise ignored him. "They only stick around for a year or less before they disappear. I've been tracking this one for a couple months but haven't been able to get close enough to take it down – it's changed form again, too, so I don't know what it looks like anymore. I do, however, finally know where it's going to be and when, so I need some help exterminating it before it disappears."

"Since when do you _exterminate_ things?" Dean inquired, narrowing his eyes at her. "I thought you were only interested in making money."

"That's why I located you lads to do the slaying," she informed him matter-of-factly.

"Don't like getting your hands dirty?" Dean said, his tone mocking.

"Oh, that's not it. I just bought a new dress and I don't wish to soil it."

He figured she probably could take care of this job herself, so he continued to question her true motives in coming to him and Sam for help. If he had learned nothing else from his encounters with this woman, aside from her ability to drive him mental, it was that _nothing_ was ever straight forward with her. He waited patiently for her to continue.

She seemed to guess the reason behind his silence, as she then added, "If I can get any part of the Vekress – including its ashes – I can make an absolute _fortune_, due to its rarity."

_Ah_, thought Dean. _There it is._

"So you see?" said Bela, altogether too perky for Dean's liking. "Everyone wins. People live, you get to kill something, and we both make money."

Dean snorted derisively, but his eyes were drawn to the sizeable wads of cash on the table. His first instinct was to refuse her, given their track record. His second was about how much he could do with that money.

"Are you in?" Bela asked with a raised eyebrow. She could tell she nearly had him – he could see it in the way her eyes were sparkling, and her lips curved upwards just a touch. It annoyed him that she read him so easily.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his gun against his ribcage as he did so. "I'm not saying I'm in or not until I have a whole lot more details here, sweetheart."

Bela waved her hand at him. "Naturally. I would expect nothing less."

"For starters: how d'you gank 'em?"

"Fire," Bela answered. "Lots and lots of fire."

"What would I have to do?" He dreaded her reply.

"Dress up, to begin with."

_Could be worse_, he decided, but waited to hear more.

"The Vekress is attending quite the party tomorrow night as a wealthy socialite – although I'm not sure _which_ wealthy socialite."

"Wait," Dean frowned. "Is this going to be like that Hand of Glory thing all over again? With the stupidly fancy outfits and crap?"

Bela lifted one of her shoulders in a partial shrug. "More or less. But without subjecting poor Sam to another evening with Gert." She leaned past Dean to smile at Sam's unmoving form across the room. "She still asks about him, you know."

"I'm sure he'd be happy to hear that," Dean said with a chuckle despite himself. Seeing how much the old broad made Sammy uncomfortable had been incredibly amusing. "So, what's your plan then? Get in, light 'em up, get out?"

"Essentially," admitted Bela. "I've secured a pair of invitations, and since Sam is currently incapacitated, you'll have to do. We'll get the Vekress alone, then destroy it."

Dean frowned again. "And _how_ are you expecting to do that? If we're at a fancy party, we can't exactly go running in with blow torches and flame throwers."

Bela sighed. "Look, are you going to help me or not? Because I'm not going to go over every detail only for you to turn me down. In or out, right now." She levelled her gaze at him, challenging and confident, and something else he couldn't quite place.

Dean lifted his chin and sniffed as he scooped up the packages of money. "Doesn't sound too hard. I'm sure I can handle it." He tossed a cocky smile her way, flicking his fingers over the edges of the money.

"I'm not," she replied, her tone bored and long-suffering. "But I'm afraid I don't currently have a better alternative."

Dean made a very mature face at her.

Sam moaned softly from the other side of the room. He sat up and squinted blearily at them.

"Bela?"

"Hello, Sam," she greeted with a wide, charming smile. "Heard you were a bit under the weather."

"Understatement," Sam grumbled.

"I've brought you some soup, darling," said Bela brightly. She grabbed one of the cans off the table and headed to the kitchenette to prepare it. Dean shot a dark look at her back.

"Thanks," said Sam, sounding completely miserable. His complexion was pale and green-ish as he shuffled over to the table with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He settled into the chair beside Dean.

He looked pointedly in Bela's direction, then at Dean, eyebrows crinkled in a silent question. Dean shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"What's the job?" Sam asked weakly.

"A, uh, _Vekress_ demon. You ever heard of 'em?"

Sam nodded and pulled some of the files closer.

"'Course you have," Dean muttered.

"They're hard to catch, and pretty rare," said Sam, quoting from his freaky Wikipedia brain.

"That's what _she_ said." Dean gestured at Bela, who was at the stove gently stirring the soup in the pot before her.

"They use some low grade spells to poison things, and they can take human form, but it takes days for them to change – unlike a shapeshifter," Sam continued. "So it'll be stuck in whatever form it's in unless you lose track of it for a few days and give it time to change. You have to take them out with fire."

"She said that too." Dean gestured again with his thumb towards the motel room kitchen. "Minus the _changing over a few days_ bit."

"See? I do tell the truth on occasion." Bela winked over her shoulder at the boys.

Dean shook his head but declined to reply. He proceeded to fill Sam in on the rest of what Bela had said, and Sam in turn provided more information on what he knew of Vekress'. At some point while Sam was talking, Dean found himself watching Bela as she idly stirred the soup. His eyes traced up the line of her back, her shoulders, her arms and back down her legs, wrapped in a pair of skin-hugging jeans. After a few moments or so, he realized he was staring and snapped out of it, hastily returning his focus to his brother, who was going over ways to identify a Vekress demon.

Sam had stopped talking and was smirking with _far_ too much amusement. Dean glared and Sam thankfully opted not to comment further on what he'd just witnessed.

"Anyways, so the easiest ways to find one out is touch and smell: they're very cold to the touch, and they smell very, very sweet. Like cotton candy and maple syrup."

"Sounds yummy," quipped Dean.

"Soup's done," Bela announced. She poured part of the pot's contents into a bowl and rejoined them at the table. Bela set the chipped white bowl down before Sam and seated herself across from Dean.

"Thanks." Sam nodded to her and reached for his spoon.

Dean stuck his hand out over the steaming bowl. "No, wait Sammy, don't eat that."

"Dean," Sam sighed.

"What'd you put in that?" Dean demanded, glaring at Bela.

"It was a can of soup. I put _water_ in it," she answered.

"Right, and what else? Drugs? Poison?"

Bela cocked her head sideways. "You're opinion of me is _that_ low, that you believe I would try to poison your _ill_ brother?"

"Yes," Dean answered without hesitation.

Bela snatched the spoon from Sam's hand and scooped up a spoonful of chicken and noodles. She blew on the spoonful to cool it. Dean inadvertently focused on her pink lips as she did so, before clearing his throat and glancing at Sam, who looked a bit exasperated. Bela downed the mouthful of soup and raised her eyebrows at Dean.

"Well?" she asked.

Dean leaned back and then gave Sam permission to proceed.

"Because heaven forbid I _actually_ am trying to be helpful, is that right?" Bela crossed her arms over her chest.

"With your track record, honey, I wouldn't put it past you to pull something. Even on a boy as sick as Sammy, here."

Bela exhaled in puff of air and opted instead to return to the issue that had brought her to them that afternoon: the Vekress demon. She rifled through files and papers spread across the table, and together she, Dean, and Sam worked out a plan for the evening.

* * *

The suit Bela had conveniently brought for him to wear wasn't a tuxedo like the last time she'd dressed him up, but rather this swanky pin-striped thing complete with a tie and vest. Dean scrunched up his face and gave her a pained, incredulous look, but she merely breezed past him to the bathroom to get herself ready. Sam crawled back into bed, exhausted from the past hour of planning, and as Dean changed clothes, his brother was soon fast asleep.

Dean was cursing Bela as he did up the buttons on the crisp white shirt, and cursed her some more when he added the vest (great, now he felt like freaking waiter), shiny shoes, jacket, and bright red tie.

Tugging on the stiff collar at his throat, he began a silent mantra of _ten thousand dollars ten thousand dollars_.

After several minutes of impatiently waiting for her to get ready, he reluctantly decided to see just how bad the suit was – it certainly had _looked_ bad laid out on his bed. After all, who the hell wore pinstripes? He was genuinely surprised then, standing in front of the mirror, to see he actually didn't look half bad.

_Huh._

Something about the charcoal suit with the faint pinstripes made him appear leaner and taller than he was. For a monkey suit, he supposed it was pretty decent. He had to admit the chick had taste – although he would never admit it _to_ her.

The few seconds he took in order to assess his appearance made him feel really girly – _What the _hell_, Dean_ – so with an irritable clearing of his throat and a dismissive wave of his hand, Dean turned his back on the mirror. Just a few moments later, Bela emerged from the motel bathroom.

"Since it's a Christmas party, I took the liberty of accenting you in red while I wear green," she said, and then paused to admire the suit she'd picked out for Dean.

He was kind of loathe to admit it, but she was stunning in a floor-length, curve-hugging green dress. Her hair was messily pinned up and a couple pieces hung down to frame her pretty face. Dean felt his fingers itch to tuck those strands of hair behind her ears and he swiftly quashed the urge.

Her lips were parted slightly and he could see her run her tongue against the back of her teeth. He felt a flicker of electricity in his chest from the heat in her gaze.

"Well, that certainly looks good on you," Bela said, sliding her eyes over him with unabashed appreciation. "It'll look even better when I tear it off of you."

Dean slid his hand into his pocket. "Is that a threat or a challenge?"

"I haven't decided yet," came her coy reply.

"You know," he said, tilting his head to the side. "I seem to recall you saying something like this last time I wore a suit. Do you have a thing for suits?"

"I have a thing for good-looking men in good-looking suits." Bela shrugged.

"Now you're calling me good-looking."

"It's a fact, not flattery."

"Of course." Dean fought the grin spreading across his face but shortly lost the battle.

* * *

Dean and Bela arrived at the lavish mansion, owned by Chester and Valeria VonStratten (Dean had made a gagging noise when Bela told him earlier where they were going). Before getting too close to the mansion's front door, Dean left her briefly to hide their duffel bag of supplies in a bush at the side of the house, glad for the cover of darkness. When he returned moments later, she took his arm, and they blended in amongst the other couples and groups making their way to entrance.

"Once we're inside, don't act like yourself," Bela instructed. "It will only blow our cover."

"Hey, I can act fancy," Dean replied defensively.

"Last time, you stuck _gum_ to a fountain centerpiece."

"Well, I'm not chewing gum this time," he hissed.

At the ornate entrance to the mansion, Dean presented his and Bela's invitation while a set of servants took her coat. After a few moments of simpering pleasantries, "Mr. and Mrs. Flavershim" joined the other party guests in the main ballroom.

"Main ballroom?" Dean said under his breath. "As opposed to what, the _spare_ ballroom?"

Bela laughed softly. "Sometimes your ignorance is adorable."

He wasn't sure whether to be offended or a little bit pleased by her comment. Luckily, he didn't need to worry about it long. He and Bela were there for one reason only, and the sooner they got the job done, the sooner he could get rid of Bela.

Bela steered them over to a finely dressed couple just inside the expansive, well-lit room and immediately began chatting them up. The plan they'd agreed on back at the motel was mainly to be as casual as possible, fit in, and find simple excuses to be near enough to the other guests to determine if they were cold and smelled sweet.

As they moved from guest to guest making small talk, Bela was obviously a natural in this environment. Dean supposed it probably stemmed from a lifetime of lying – it came easy to her to spin whatever story fit the moment. He had no doubt she'd lived this kind of life before and assumed it was a big part of the reason why she conned and stole and sold things for a hefty profit: she liked rich things.

He, meanwhile, played along as best he could. As much as it grated on him to do so, he let Bela lead often, and he basically just tried to emulate the type of snobby rich people he'd seen in movies – _yes, our housekeeper is divine; oh, the Hamptons are exquisite this time of year; I agree, the water polo championship was stunning last weekend_ – and try not to openly gag in the process.

It wasn't _all_ bad, however. Several times he and Bela parted ways to tackle the guests separately. He made frequent stops at the buffet table which was absolutely loaded with more food than Dean had ever seen in one spot in his life. A lot of it was weird-looking fancy crap, but he sampled most of it anyways just in case it was any good (some it was – some of it he had to discreetly spit into a napkin and toss under the table).

Finding excuses to get close to the other guests was something Dean actually found to be not terribly difficult. With several of the women, he flirted, bumped shoulders with them, or kissed their hand. Bela would cozy up to them and admire their jewelry, or perhaps share some gossip in their ear. With the men, Dean would laugh at their jokes and give them a clap on the back, or lean in to point out attractive women in the room. Bela, meanwhile, would feign being tipsy and grasp their arms for support or flirt like crazy. They took turns being one of those annoyingly friendly people who hug you when you meet for the first time and insist on touching your arm on and off through the entire conversation.

After a good hour, they'd hit up two-thirds of the guests, but they had come up empty-handed.

"No luck?" asked Dean, stuffing some sort of pastry with meat in the middle of it into his mouth.

Bela shook her head and bit her lip. "Not yet." She glanced at Dean. "How many of those have you had?"

"These specifically?" he said, crumbs spraying when he talked. "Just five."

Bela rolled her eyes. "Leave some food for everyone else."

Dean grinned around another pastry and said, "No promises."

With another roll of her eyes, she moved on to continue vetting guests. Dean brushed his hands off on a napkin and then sought out his next target. A woman with jet black hair, wearing a long, gold dress caught his eye and he straightened his tie before sidling over to her.

He hadn't been talking to her long (and oh, she was _totally_ into him) when Bela was suddenly at his side, beaming and enthusiastic.

"Reginald, _darling_!" she cooed, throwing her arms around Dean's neck.

He staggered, momentarily off balance, as the woman in gold shrank back in surprise. Bela planted a big kiss on Dean's cheek and he shrugged her off irritably.

"_There_ you are, dearest," said Bela, entwining her arm around his. "I've been looking for you absolutely _everywhere_. Isn't this party absolutely _divine?_"

Dean scowled at her.

"This is your… sister?" asked the woman in the gold dress hopefully.

"Wife," Bela corrected.

"Oh, I just assumed, no rings – "

"We're not so old-fashioned," said Bela, at the same time that Dean answered, "We're not really married."

Together Dean and Bela laughed like they'd said something very funny. To Dean, they sounded horribly fake, and he wondered if the woman noticed. He wanted to further assure this gorgeous woman that he, in actual fact, was _very single_, but Bela was hauling him possessively off to the dance floor, _ta-ta_-ing over her shoulder.

"Was that necessary?" he snapped, sliding his arm around her waist and taking her hand in the classic dance position.

"I could see from across the room you were dying to leave with that woman," Bela said boredly. "Lest you forget, we're actually here to get a demon, not _get some._"

_What Are You Doing New Year's Eve_ sung by some crooner of yore began playing as more couples joined them on the dance floor. Dean wasn't the most graceful dancer, but he managed all right, though Bela's occasional jibes about his lack of skill irked him.

"What are you doing New Year's Eve, Dean?" Bela asked when the song reached the chorus.

Dean snorted. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"I can probably guess. Sitting in a motel room, with Sam, being generally miserable as usual?"

"And what are _you_ doing? Stealing money from nuns, and food from orphans? Eating virgin hearts?"

"Ha ha," she said humorlessly. "I was merely making conversation."

"Lest _you_ forget, we're here to gank a demon, not make conversation," he sneered.

She opened her mouth to retort, and he promptly spun her away from him, and back again, hard and jarring. He was pleased to see her looking momentarily caught off guard.

"Are we done playing the happy dancing couple now? We have a job to do." He dropped his grip on her and promptly left the dance floor.

* * *

A short time later, Bela and Dean located the hosts of the party: Chester and Valeria VonStratten. Chester was tall and pale with short dark hair, while his wife, Valeria, was in wheelchair. She had fair hair and was even paler than her husband. Dean felt his instincts spike with the suspicion that they'd found their mark; they only had to confirm it.

Bela gushed about the décor and the music, Dean complimented them on the food, and they both tried to find excuses to touch the hosts. Though Chester tried to dodge Dean's attempts, one "accidental" drink spill from Bela later, and Dean had the chance to briefly grasp Chester's shoulder as he wiped down the other man's shirt with a napkin. Chester's shoulder was like grabbing a block of ice covered in fabric. The older man pushed past Dean crossly, insisting he was fine and would go change his suit jacket.

As he brushed by, there was a strong, sweet smell – thick and unmistakable.

Bela continued making loud apologies to Valeria as Chester stormed away, tossing a suspicious look over his shoulder. Dean and Bela departed from Valeria seconds later.

"We may have tipped our hand a bit early there," Bela sighed. "But is it him?"

"Oh, hell yeah," Dean confirmed. "He was freaking cold, and I smelled him when he went by. It's definitely him."

"Well, based on the look he gave us, he most assuredly suspects we're up to something," said Bela and bit her bottom lip.

Across the room near the tables of food, the woman in the gold dress from before caught Dean's eye. The smile she gave him was sultry and then she winked.

"We'll need to be cautious as we pursue him," Bela continued.

The woman picked a strawberry from the fruit plate and began eating it very slowly, her gaze locked on Dean's. He grinned as he watched her.

"So just in case, for the rest of the night, don't eat or drink anything," instructed Bela. "The last thing we want is one of us incapacitated. Well, more so than usual."

The woman retrieved a second strawberry from the tray and proceeded to eat it even more seductively than the first.

"Are you even listening to me?" Bela questioned, then followed Dean's gaze. She frowned and elbowed her date.

"Ow! What?"

"Did you hear a word I said?"

"Yeah, he suspects us, pursue him, blah blah, I heard. So are we going, or what?"

Bela narrowed her eyes skeptically, but then she gestured to the door that Chester had previously exited through. "Let's go. And _do_ try to keep it in your pants."

Dean scowled at her. "You are allergic to fun, I swear."

"Dean, I would be the most fun you ever had." Bela tapped him on the nose. "But you never will." She turned on her heel and left in a swirl of green. After making a face at her retreating back, Dean followed.

_Ten thousand dollars_, he reminded himself, gritting his teeth. _Ten thousand dollars, ten thousand…_

* * *

Dean and Bela were traversing down yet another ornate hallway in search and pursuit of Chester when a waitress came around the corner bearing a tray of food.

"Hello!" she greeted cheerily. "Would you like some crab cakes? House special, fresh made."

"Awesome!" said Dean, grabbing one of the delicacies from the girl's silver tray.

Bela was digging in her clutch by a massive tapestry on the wall, mumbling under her breath.

Dean popped the pastry in his mouth. "Mm, those are really good. Bela, you gotta try one of these." He grabbed another, and with a wide smile, the girl retreated to serve more guests. He stuffed the second cake in his mouth, enjoying the sweet flavor and flaky crust.

He coughed momentarily, a little bit of crust going down the wrong tube. Then he coughed more, and more, and something was _very_ wrong. He waved his arm at Bela to get her attention.

"Oh for God's sake," Bela rolled her eyes. "I _told_ you not to eat anything. I'm distracted for five seconds and you try to get yourself killed."

Dean gurgled and wobbled, hands at his throat. "_What,_" he managed. He could feel his throat closing up, and there was some sort of blunt, uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

"You've been poisoned," Bela replied, as casually as you please. "He must've cursed it on his way by."

Dean's eyes went wide as his face became steadily redder. He gestured frantically as he collapsed to his knees. Black spots swam at the edges of his vision and his heart raced.

"No need to be so dramatic." Bela fished in her clutch. "Luckily I can always count on your stupidity, and planned accordingly." She retrieved a small vial of clear liquid from her bag and knelt beside Dean, who pounded his chest with his fist and was very nearly blue. She grasped his chin, tipped his head back, and dumped the contents of the vial into Dean's mouth.

There was a few seconds where she replaced the vial in her purse, looking entirely unconcerned, and Dean was very, _very_ certain he was about to die. His vision tunneled and he tipped to one side, flopping onto the carpet… and suddenly his breath rushed back into his chest. Dean slapped his hand over his heart as he gasped and gulped air and it had never felt so good to breathe.

Bela graciously allowed him several moments to regain his senses.

"Th-thanks," he croaked after a good minute.

"You're quite welcome. Now, if you don't mind," said Bela, getting to her feet. "Shall we not waste any more time, and continue on?"

* * *

Two hallways later, they were in an area that felt decidedly off-limits to guests. Probably because there was a big _Off Limits to Guests_ sign. Dean glanced over his shoulder, but no one else was around, so he and Bela continued on. They hadn't gone much farther when they heard voices coming their way.

Bela flattened herself against the wall, Dean beside her. He didn't have much time to decide what to do, so he figured the usual movie cliché of being the drunk kissing couple was their best bet. He swiftly moved so he was standing before Bela instead of beside her and pressed his hands to the wall on either side of her head. He became sharply aware of how she smelled: like apples and soap. He had never noticed that before.

The voices were near, just around the corner. Dean's head moved towards hers just a smidge, and she slid her finger over her lips to warn him not to make a sound. Then the voices – an _actually_ drunk couple, by the sounds of it – began fading away down another corridor. Dean pulled away from Bela instantly, clearing his throat.

"Clear," he reported after a glance down the hall to either side and around the corner. "They're gone."

As they started down the hall again, Bela peered at him sideways. "Were you about to kiss me just then?"

"Psh, no," Dean said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Well," he hastily amended. "I was only going to make sure we looked innocent and inconspicuous. Making out in a dark hallway seemed less conspicuous than sneaking around for no reason, in pursuit of the host."

"Of course," said Bela, sounding infuriatingly smug.

"Don't flatter yourself sweetheart, I'm only in this for the money."

"Ah, a regular Han Solo."

"Shut up."

* * *

As they wove through the mansion and made for the cellar, Bela chose the moment they reached the cellar door to inform Dean that she'd managed to slip a tracking device onto Chester earlier. It was transmitting to her earring, so she could hear it beeping softly – more frantically the closer they got to Chester.

He was annoyed that she hadn't let him in on that fact earlier, but she felt there'd been no need for him to know. Bela expertly picked the lock on the cellar door and flung it open, flooding the dark stairwell beyond with light from the hallway.

"He's probably trying to change form right now," she mused. "Get your gun out."

"Yes, your Highness," Dean replied snarkily. "Because this is obviously the first time I've tried to corral a demon."

They descended the stairs slow and quiet, listening for the sound of a threat, but they heard nothing. At the bottom of the stairs was Chester's suit jacket, discarded and ripped as though it'd been torn off by something with claws.

"Huh. So there _really is_ a demon," said Dean, sounding almost disappointed. He gave the shredded jacket a poke with his foot.

"What, did you think I was lying?"

"That wouldn't exactly be new for you, would it?" he reminded her. "I was starting to think you'd made everything up just so you could get me in a suit again." He smirked, smug.

"Oh darling, in your dreams," Bela laughed.

"My dreams involve a lot less clothing than this," Dean shot back, playing her game.

Bela licked her lips thoughtfully but before she had the chance to say anything, she was thrown to the ground by a howling shadow.

The fight with the Vekress that followed, all things considered, could have been worse. It also could have been a whole lot better. And quicker.

Dean dove after the demon; it slashed and wailed. He managed to get a shot off but missed before it slammed him into the nearest wall with bone-jarring force. He slumped to the ground momentarily stunned, while Bela dove for his gun. She screamed as the Vekress attacked her, scratching and snarling, and Dean threw his body into it to knock it away from her.

There were a few more blows to the head and confused back and forth before the demon made a break for it – it dashed to the far wall, smashed out the small window and scurried out.

Dean clambered to his feet and searched for Bela. She looked rough, bloody and bruised, with large gashes all over her arms and legs.

"You okay?" he asked, swiping at the blood trailing down his cheek.

"Go after it!" she shouted.

Dean nodded once, scooping up his gun, and did just that. He was far less agile climbing through the window than the demon had been, but he got out all the same. The demon was on the lawn, writhing and trying to change form. It was completely grotesque – part human, part something else really nasty, with goo and big claws and crap. Its face still held Chester's image, but like it was burnt and melting plastic, charred and morphing.

Dean blinked the blood and sweat from his eyes and shot at the thing, clipping it in the shoulder.

The demon whirled on him with a mighty shriek and charged.

"Dean, _duck!_"

He dropped to the ground instantly. The duffel bag – containing various highly flammable and explosive materials – that he and Bela had brought earlier, flew over his head, heading straight for the Vekress demon. Dean aimed and shot the bag. It exploded in a scary, large fireball. The Vekress screamed.

Dean didn't think, merely reacted, and it was in the aftermath of the explosion that he found himself on top of Bela, protecting her body with his. She blinked up at him with those big green-gray eyes of hers as the smoke cleared, her features briefly unguarded, displaying a note of surprise, gratitude, and something Dean couldn't quite identify. It was gone so fast he wasn't even sure he really saw it, however, as her usual mask slipped effortlessly back into place.

"What was that for?" she asked.

"You saved me from the poison. Now we're even," he replied and added only a little mockingly, "I don't like being in anyone's debt."

She narrowed her eyes at him and smirked. If earlier it'd been him entertaining thoughts about kissing her (even if he still convinced himself it was only to maintain cover), it was clear she was the one thinking about kissing _him_ now. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and suddenly Dean was _extremely_ aware of the fact that he was still on top of her, and he rolled off like touching her for another second might leave him with third-degrees burns. He popped to his feet and coughed loudly. She rose, dusting off her dress, which was grimy, ripped and singed. He looked down – his suit wasn't much better.

Bela calmly opened her clutch, removed and unfolded a large plastic bag, and then snapped a latex glove on over her dirty hand. With only one shoe still on her feet, she picked her way over to the crater where the demon had previously been and began grabbing smoking Vekress bits. Dean cringed, somewhere between disgusted and impressed.

"I thought you said you didn't like getting your hands dirty," he said, making his way over to join her.

"Well, this dress is clearly ruined, so it hardly matters now," she replied with a shrug.

"It _was_ a nice dress," Dean chuckled.

"I knew you thought so," she smirked, too triumphant and smug.

Dean tried to decide how to answer her before wittily coming back with, "Yeah, whatever. Shut up."

* * *

"Whoa," Sam said when Dean and Bela tramped into the motel room together, sooty, bloody and disheveled. He was sitting up in bed reading a book. "Er, how did it go?"

Dean gestured down his front and shot Sam a dirty look.

Sam tried not to smile. "Did you get it, at least?"

"We did," Bela confirmed with a tired sigh. "Glad to see you looking less green, Sam."

"Thanks."

Bela grabbed her things and headed straight for the bathroom to get cleaned up. While she showered and blow-dried her hair, Dean filled Sam in on the details of how the job went down. Sam in turn informed his brother that he'd kept the soup from earlier down and was feeling much better overall, if still pretty gross.

Shortly, Bela emerged from the bathroom in a fresh set of clothes. "Your turn," she nodded at Dean.

"I'm good for now." He wasn't about to leave her alone with Sam – sick, weak Sam – for any amount of time. "I can wait until you're gone." He flashed her a sweet smile.

Bela raised her eyebrow. "You're going to sit around all filthy instead of just getting cleaned up?"

"It's not that I don't trust you…" Dean tipped his head to the side. "Wait, yes it is."

Her lips curved up in an amused smile. "Even now, I have to earn it from you."

"Even now," he confirmed.

Sam glanced between them. "Well, if you're not going to use the bathroom, then I will," he said and trudged in, leaving Dean and Bela alone.

A few moments of strange silence passed where they both were stock still, their eyes locked on the other's, before Dean broke the spell, clearing his throat and focusing instead on his dirty hands. Bela, he noticed, looked away too, a slightly odd expression on her face before she was back to being all business-as-usual.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing left to do except pay you." She crossed to the table and removed the money from her bag.

"Not much went right," Dean said. "And you're still paying us in full?"

"I promised I would," Bela replied, handing over the hefty wads of cash. "Besides, we got it in the end."

"Right, and your promises mean so much." Dean took the money, careful not to brush her hand in the process.

"To you, they should." She sounded so serious that Dean looked up and met her gaze. She glanced away quickly, however, busying her hands with doing up her big blue bag and then tucking her hair behind her ears.

Bela straightened and took a step towards the door.

Dean had the irrational urge to say something, to keep her there for another minute, and said her name before he could stop it from tumbling past his lips.

"Yes?" she turned on her heel to face him, somehow managing to look disinterested, curious, and a little triumphant all at once.

He shook his head. "Naw. Nothing."

Bela nodded once, as if she expected that, and he noted that she seemed hesitant to leave too. He wasn't sure if that annoyed him or pleased him. Then she shrugged, mumbled something like _screw it_, dropped her bag, and closed the distance between them.

She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, yanking him close as their lips collided. Dean was as surprised by her action as his reaction – namely, he didn't push her away. In fact, it was as though some connection inside his brain had been severed, and his body started acting entirely of its own volition. His mind shut down entirely, and he only _felt_: her hands racing over and around his neck, up through his hair, down his back, across his chest, up his jaw. He lost himself in the feeling of her soft lips on his, the electricity pulsing between them, the sparks her fingertips left behind as they trailed over his skin. He threaded his fingers through her long hair, dragged his hands down her back and pulled her closer. He'd had no idea how badly he had wanted this until he was hungrily kissing her, trying to devour her right back.

She broke contact abruptly and he was left standing there, blinking and dazed and tingling like he just woke up from a really good dream. Her cheeks were flushed bright red as she smoothed down her hair with shaky hands. Bela cleared her throat.

"Well," she said and shot Dean a cocky half-smile. "'Till next time."

Without a glance back, she sashayed out of the motel room, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

Dean stared at the spot she had previously occupied, his senses on fire and his brain trying to catch up with what in the hell just happened. At the same moment he realized that his jaw was hanging open like an idiot, he also realized Sam was standing behind him.

He snapped his mouth closed, inhaled, and then tried to rearrange his features to appear casual and like he totally did not just make out with Bela. _Bela._

Sam was in his pajamas looking somewhere between pitying and impressed, his eyebrows slightly crunched together.

"Dude," he began.

"Shut up," Dean snapped.

"Just tell me she didn't steal anything this time." Sam settled back onto his bed – he was a lot less ashen-faced than earlier that day, which was a good sign.

Dean was about to retort sarcastically, but he stopped when he felt that his pocket was much lighter than it was five minutes ago. He swore loudly.

"What?" asked Sam, though he already guessed what happened as he added, "Your wallet?"

Dean pressed his lips together tight. Next time he was really, truly, _seriously_ going to kill her.

"Dude…" said Sam.

"Shut _up,_" said Dean.

**-end-**

* * *

**A/n:** Thanks for reading!


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